


Raindrops and Starlight

by Into_The_Oblivion



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Dancing, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 13:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9183463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Into_The_Oblivion/pseuds/Into_The_Oblivion
Summary: Of course, she was his world, and he was hers.  Because they were mates, together for eternity, bound by some ancient and wild thing that lit up between them as if it were alive.





	

The celebration courtyard was filled with raucous laughter and the heady scents of sweat, roses, and fine ale.  Between the long tables set on either side of the courtyard was a crowd of dancers, twirling and swaying in bright silks. 

Seated at one of the tables, Feyre gazed at the dancers with her head propped up on her fist.  The vibrant colors and spinning shapes blurred before her tired eyes, becoming a cloud of navy- and peach-colored chiffon.  To her left, Cassian roared with laughter at something someone had said.  But Feyre was too exhausted to pay attention to any conversation being held at the table tonight. 

It was just after midnight in Velaris, and the entire city was celebrating the full moon.  The streets were crowded with vendors and stalls selling moon-shaped trinkets and sweets.  Music floated in the air throughout the city, echoing in every alley and every clearing.  

Little candles were lit in the house windows and lined up along the edges of the streets, making it appear as if the entire city was speckled with tiny stars. 

The band finished that charming, plucky tune they’d been playing, and the entire courtyard erupted into applause.  Face alight with a wide grin, Mor plopped onto the bench across from Feyre.  A moment later, Azriel—whose shadows had disappeared for the evening—slid into the seat next to her.  Mor turned to grin at him as she tucked her hair back up into its delicate braids.  

“I haven’t had that much fun in a century,” she said, twisting back to face Feyre.  Beside the golden-haired dreamer, Azriel was fingering a piece of bread, his face strangely red.  Feyre suppressed her smile—the shadow warrior had finally build up enough courage to ask Mor to dance, but evidently didn’t know what action to take next.  As if he could feel her gazing at him, Azriel looked up, brows furrowed.  

In the distance, the band started a slow, calming melody and pairs of dancers began to stand. 

Feyre slowly grinned at Azriel.  She let her mind reach out and touch his mental wall, and he opened up enough to let her voice through. _Ask her to dance again,_ she said. _She won’t say no._

After a moment of gazing down at his hands, Azriel turned to Mor and hesitantly murmured something in her ear.  She grinned widely and nodded, letting him take her hand and lead her to the dance floor.  Mor’s golden dress swayed in the breeze and she touched Azriel’s cheek, and then they were lost in the crowd. 

_Those two will take a century to admit their love for each other,_ came a familiar, deep voice in Feyre’s mind.  She smiled despite herself, her tiredness disappeared somewhat. 

_At least_ you _were brave enough to do it sooner,_ she replied.  _Any longer and I would’ve had to resort to flirting with Cassian._ She felt him laugh through the bond, his joy like a wave of golden sparks in her mind. 

Feyre sat up straight, gazing around the courtyard. _While we are on the topic of adoration, where might I find you, my love?_

_Over by the giggling women dressed rather revealingly.  I must say, some of them are more daring in their fashion than you are. Though I daresay what you are wearing tonight is revealing enough._

Feyre stood immediately, clamping down on her annoyance. _Prick,_ she hissed at him, and then slammed her mental wall shut—but not before the echoes of her mate’s laugh reached her. 

She made her way around the table, her dress swishing.  She had chosen a peacock-colored number for the occasion, with complicated, delicate indigo accents threaded throughout.  The silk wrapped tightly across her bodice, coming to a sharp V and exposing her bosom, and flowed out into a billowing skirt that barely touched the ground.  Cerridwen had braided her hair up into a style like Mor’s, letting a few pieces hang down, and had given her small, turquoise earrings that glinted in the light to wear.

The music quivered through the air as Feyre made her way around the edge of the courtyard.  Groups of fae were gathered here, chatting and laughing and sipping mulled wine.  Here and there, hidden in the darkness, were couples kissing passionately.  Feyre quickly avoided her gaze, cheeks burning, and glanced around for Rhysand’s dark hair and trimmed attire. 

And there he was. 

Leaning against one of the stone walls, half in the shadows, smirking and eyes glinting and hair ruffled as he listened to the female fae before him talk.  Feyre started towards him and, as if he could feel her presence, he looked up.  His eyes glowed as he took in her appearance, gaze sweeping up and down her form and making her cheeks blaze. 

She would never grow used to his intense stare, she realized, as she slowly walked towards him.  Never, despite the years they would be together.  Rhys looked back down to the woman before him, politely saying something, and then turned back to face her.  He wore a fitted jacket and tunic, all black, with gold accents on the wrists and collar.  His hair was half swept back and the shadows played with the planes of his face. 

_My High Lord,_ thought Feyre, and Rhys grinned.

_Hello, Feyre darling_ , he purred, reaching out to wrap his arms around her when she neared.  He pulled her to his chest and she breathed in his musky scent, eyes shuttering closed. 

“You left us as soon as we arrived at the festival,” she whispered, hands clutching the back of his jacket.  He pulled away slightly, eyes filled with an unspoken apology. 

“I had business.” He kissed her forehead. “I promise that it won’t happen again.”

_Business with pretty, underdressed girls?_ thought Feyre, but Rhys just shook his head—half smiling—and pulled her onto the dance floor. 

Oh no. 

“Rhys,” pleaded Feyre. “Rhys, my love, not tonight. I’m tired, please—”

He just smiled wickedly once more and said, “Those manners are only for the bedroom, Feyre darling.” He inclined his head towards the whirling crowd before them. “Let’s dance.” 

Feyre tried protesting once more, pulling on Rhys in an attempt to avoid the inevitable, but soon gave in and was swept into the crowd.  Infinitely grateful that she had chosen such a freeing dress, she linked her hands around his neck and whirled along to the music.  The tune became lively, joyful, and—all tiredness suddenly gone—Feyre laughed and spun in Rhys’s grip.  

The world around them became a blur of blues and pinks and silks and light, and they themselves _became—_ became the music, the night, the stars and moon, the  vibrant colors and laughter.  Feyre threw back her head and let the joy consume her, giving in to the moment.  When she looked back up at Rhys, he was smiling with delight and gazing upon Feyre as if she was the only light he could see in this infinite blackness, as if she was his world. 

Of course, she _was_ his world, and he was hers.  Because they were mates, together for eternity, bound by some ancient and wild thing that lit up between them as if it were alive. 

The music reached its end and the pair paused in their dancing, both panting.  Feyre stared at her mate, memorizing the happiness in his eyes, the youngness he seemed to display, the lack of anything that associated him with darkness or pain or fear, before it was too late.  Because in this moment, he wasn’t Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court.  He was Rhys, her friend despite the troubles, her other half for all time, her mate throughout the ages.

_You’re mine,_ she said to him, and took his face in her hands and kissed him passionately. 

His hands found her waist, gently tracing invisible lines there.  Her mouth opened and his tongue swept in, eliciting in a groan from her.  Somewhere in the distance, she could hear another tune starting—but that didn’t matter.  Rhys’s fingers began tracing up her dress, towards her breasts, and every thought in her head vanished.  

With an effort, she pulled back. _Not now,_ she said to him.  Even in her mind her voice sounded breathless.  Rhys’s smile turned feral. 

_What better time than now?_ he said to her, but he pulled away despite his words.  He held her close to him, fingers tracing a line up and down her back, as a slower song began.  Feyre turned her head, listening to Rhys’s heartbeat that seemed to match her own.  She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them again, she caught a glimpse of Mor and Azriel, still dancing.  The pair were pressed close, their foreheads together, Azriel’s hands around Mor’s back and hers around his neck.  Mor sported a happy expression and, oddly, Azriel was smiling. 

Feyre felt her lips twitch upwards and closed her eyes again. 

And then the first drop of rain fell on her nose. 

“What—” She looked upwards, squinting against the other drops falling.  Sometime in the night, the sky had clouded over and was now dropping water onto the celebrators.  The other dancers paused as well as the warm rain began to fall more quickly, glancing at one another.  Then they simply laughed and began twirling and swaying again, letting the rain drench their clothes and hair.  

“You look absolutely stunning,” whispered Rhys in her ear, and Feyre pressed her lips to his cheek.

“As do you.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, a smirk forming. “It almost makes me want to lick the water running down your pretty little face.”

Her heart jumped, but she managed stay composed and whisper, “ _Shhh._ ” She pressed a finger against his lips, but he just bit her soft skin gently.  

It was damning that her heart skipped a beat the moment his teeth met her skin.

_You can lick me all you want,_ she said through their bond, _once we’re alone. Later tonight._

_Who said it had to be later?_

A wicked grin and his arms tightly around her were all the warning she was given before Rhys shot into the air, lifted through the rain and the warm breeze by his powerful wings.  She yelped and clung to him, still unaccustomed to his sudden flying.  He strengthened his grip and smiled down at her, water drenching his hair and face. 

Feyre smiled back and then closed her eyes, creating a little bubble of water-free air around them.  She felt approval drift down the bond. 

They flew on, Rhys tracing an invisible pattern into her back. 

And Feyre let the wind wrap around her, giving herself up to the night and the stars. 


End file.
